by Sal Conte
Peter reached over to the end table, and pulled the stone from a drawer. It glistened in the mottled light.
“Here,” he said, handing it to her.
She turned the stone over in her hand, allowing it to catch the light at odd angles.
“It’s a moonstone,” he said. “The ancient Romans revered these stones, believing them to be forged from solidified rays of moonlight.” He looked into her eyes. They, too, were glinting in the moonlight. “I love you. And the best times of my life have been spent with you here in this room, in the moonlight. That stone has captured our moonlight, intermingled with our love.”
Kim’s expression softened as she saw the stone for what it was, a token of true love.
“Thank you, darling,” she said. She kissed his fingertips, and then the stone. “I shall treasure this always.”
She placed the stone on the end table, then rolled over and got on top of him.
“Now close your eyes,” she said. “I’m going to give you another token of our love.”
*
They went out Saturday night as planned. Date night.
Emma couldn’t help but smile as they entered Pour Vous. It was an old fashioned Parisian style night club on Melrose Avenue that featured live music and a burlesque show. The club even had a dress code, hard to find in Los Angeles, the capital of casual chic.
Everyone was well dressed. Emma felt particularly chic on Peter’s arm, she in the sexy red dress, with Peter looking extremely handsome in a gray suit and tie.
The tiny club had a sophisticated yet funky vibe about it. The walls were lined with gaslamp replicas that gave off an eerie yellowish glow. It was is if they were walking into a “Gatsbyesque” speakeasy.
A giant birdcage hung from the ceiling in an alcove.
“Look at that,” Emma said pointing.
“Don’t worry. This is not a strip joint,” Peter said, and laughed.
The man who led them to their table wore a black shirt with garters on the sleeves. He had on a fedora and a red tie.
“How did you ever find this place?” Emma asked as the man moved away.
“When you need romantic help, go to YELP.”
Emma laughed. She didn’t know if he was rapping or trying to be poetic. Either way, he sucked at it.
When the waiter came, Peter ordered a bottle of champagne. “The good stuff,” he said, as the waiter hurried away. He winked at her.
Emma laughed again. “Thank you,” she responded. “I’m not sure I deserve champagne.”
“Of course you do. We do. We’ve both been through a lot these past few weeks. You need to celebrate your interview, and me, Judge Toliver’s ruling. No matter the outcome, we made it this far,” he said. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
A wave of guilt surged in her chest. She still hadn’t told him that the job was in Palo Alto. She forced it down.
Emma and Peter had been tiptoeing on eggshells around the subject of Shay since the night she’d gone looking for him. It was hard to believe he wasn’t in the room with her, but he was so adamant about firing her that Emma felt they couldn’t have been having an affair.
She decided she was wrong about Shay. Molly had put something in her head, and because of her guilt, she’d latched on to it.
That’s what people do. They try to push their own guilt off on others.
This is what she told herself, yet when she caught Shay stealing glances at Peter while she played on the floor with Robbie, or when she saw Peter sneak a peek at Shay while making one of his rare kitchen appearances, she’d wonder.
The champagne was exquisite. It was crisp and refreshing. It had a hint of peaches that lingered on her tongue, and the bubbles tickled her nose.
“Tiny bubbles are the key to knowing if you’ve got a good champagne,” Peter said.
“Then we have an excellent champagne,” she said, and giggled.
“I know,” Peter said, taking a sip. “I ordered it.”
“Since when did you become an expert on good champagne?” Emma asked.
There was a flicker behind his eyes. It was there for just a moment.
“I have many skills you don’t know anything about,” he replied mysteriously.
It was meant for a laugh, but the doubt buried deep within attempted to push its way back to the surface. She wouldn’t let it.
Dinner was excellent, and neither of them mentioned Shay. He had the lobster thermidor and she had the coq au vin. They ate, and laughed, and talked about Robbie’s infatuation with dinosaurs and dragons. To him they were both real. They laughed over Dinah already trying to figure out how to climb out of the crib. She was dying to get down on the floor and play with her brother.
It was as if Shay never existed.
The floor show was about to begin. Two young ladies wearing sleazy lingerie were climbing into the birdcage when Peter’s phone rang.
“You need to turn that thing off,” Emma said in a hushed tone.
“Hello? Hello?” Peter looked at her and shrugged. “Wrong number,” I guess. He signed off.
Minutes later, the phone rang again.
“Hello?” he said a bit louder, as the music began to play. Nothing. He looked at her, shrugged again, and turned the phone off.
*
She didn’t like them spending time alone together. Yes, she realized they were husband and wife… for now. But it made her nervous. He might get the idea that he still loved her—which he didn’t. He probably never did.
She knew how conniving women could be convincing men they were in love when they weren’t. Twisting men around their fingers. Men had a tendency to think with the little head and not the big one. That got them into all kinds of trouble.
Yes, she encouraged them to go out together, but what else could she do? She had to play her part, right?
You look so lovely in that dress… Go out and have a good time. She nearly choked on the words.
She didn’t want to call him, but she couldn’t help herself. She had to know.
He wasn’t laughing when he answered. He seemed concerned. Good. Good.
He wasn’t enjoying himself. How could he enjoy himself with her? Emma was nothing more than a breeding machine. She was certain he could see that by now.
She signed off and lay back on the sofa. Her hand moved between her legs. She had the urge to satisfy herself while thinking of him. She stopped.
No. No fantasy, not this time. It’s time I had the real thing.
She removed her hand from between her thighs and sat up. She was going to wait until it was him between her legs once again. She knew her wait would not be long.
Once the job took Emma away to Palo Alto, Peter would be hers.
*
The evening had become a farce, two jokers playing their part in a ludicrously impossible situation.
Emma couldn’t help but notice that after the phantom phone call, Peter became tense, and once again, she wondered.
Was that Shay on the other end of the phone? She was dying to know.
They spent the rest of the evening at the club playing out the charade. They laughed at the ribald comedy, applauded the musicians, and held hands like young lovers should. They pretended to look lovingly into each other’s eyes, but they both knew the evening had been ruined by the call.
She hadn’t realized it at the time, but the call signaled the beginning of the end. She’d hesitated calling the agency long enough. She kept telling herself I’ll do it tomorrow, but her todays were on an endless loop, and tomorrow never came.
The truth is, she felt guilty. Shay had been so good with her children, so good with her. They’d become friends, good friends. Yet the moment she thought Shay had a wandering eye, she threw her under the bus.
Shay was beautiful, and she wasn’t. She could fix herself up all right. She wasn’t a dog, but she’d gotten the brains in the family. Nothing wrong with that.
Yet that evening in the tiny club she didn’t care ab
out looks, or brains, or guilt. The thing that plagued her was who was on the other end of the phantom phone call.
When she could no longer deal with the wondering, she made a commitment to herself. Shay’s time in their lives had come to an end. She could put it off no longer. Friend or foe, Shay had to go.
How convenient that she’d come to this decision. With Shay out of the picture, she’d have to go back to looking after her own children, and the job prospect would be put on a back burner.
More importantly, she wouldn’t have to discover that she no longer had it.
Chapter Twelve
After the night at the club, the night that was supposed to be a celebration, Peter reverted back to his pattern of spending more time at the office than he needed to. The more time at the office, the less chance he had of running into Kim.
He’d sit behind his desk all day pretending to read briefs. Sometimes he fell asleep.
On several occasions, Molly had come into his office and found him sitting there, mouth hanging open, staring at the insides of his eyelids. She looked at him with sadness.
“Peter,” she called to him one afternoon. “We just got word that the judge’s ruling will be coming down in a few days.”
He was suddenly full awake.
“Any sense of which way it might go?”
She shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do but wait. Go home,” she said.
“I’m fine,” he replied, straightening in his chair. He reached for something on his desk to affect the pretense of work. When he realized there was nothing there, he grabbed a handful of paper clips.
“You’re not fine,” she said, fixing him with a firm gaze. “I don’t know what’s going on at home, but you can’t fix it from here.”
“There’s nothing going on at home,” he responded with a little too much attitude. He opened the top drawer of his desk, and pulled out papers to clip together.
“Hey, remember me, the not my first rodeo girl? I know there’s something going on, and I know it’s about more than the case.” She moved to his desk, and took the papers and clips from his hand.
“Okay, okay. It’s just a little problem, but I promise it will not affect me in court.”
“Care to talk about it?” She put the papers back in his drawer, and sat on the edge of his desk.
He took her hand. “If there was anyone I could share this with, it would be you. But I can’t.” He looked at her, hoping she’d understand.
“Okay,” she said softly.
“But it’s almost over. Trust me.”
He needed it to be over so he could get back to his life. Each night when he got home, he’d arrive in the driveway with a belly full of hope. Then he’d see Kim’s car still there. It was like finding a sleeping monster nestled up against the garage door waiting for him. One day the monster would awaken, and then all hell would break loose.
*
He was anxious to know when Emma was finally going to make the decision. When was she going to let Kim know her services were no longer required? He didn’t want to push it, didn’t want to seem overly anxious. The truth of it was, he didn’t want to seem suspicious, but the waiting was tearing him apart inside.
On that evening when he arrived home from the office her car was still in the driveway, still nestled up against the garage door, but something was different. The passenger door hung open. The front door to the house was open as well.
Is this it? he wondered, his mouth going dry.
He moved up the driveway trying to hide his excitement and anticipation.
Please, let this be it.
He entered. Robbie’s toys were strewn across the living room floor, yet the house was quiet, eerily so.
“Hello?” he called out.
Something wasn’t right.
He was starting down the hall when Emma emerged from their bedroom. Dinah was in her arms, her eyes were welling with tears.
“Oh, Peter,” she said, and flew into his arms.
He held her with the baby between them.
“What’s wrong?”
“I did it. I fired her.” She stopped crying and looked up into his eyes. “She didn’t take it well.”
“What do you mean she didn’t take it well?” Peter felt panic was rising within. “Where’s Robbie?” He stepped out of the embrace, his eyes wide with anticipation.
“He’s fine. I dropped him off for a play date at Tommy Nixon’s,” Emma replied.
“Did she… say anything?” Peter asked. As soon as he asked, he realized the question was too suspicious, but it was already out there.
Emma took in a slow breath. “Oh, yes,” she replied. “I told her we no longer required her services. She was surprised, of course she was surprised. I’d been pretending we were best friends.”
Emma moved back into the bedroom, and Peter followed.
“Did she threaten you? Did she threaten the children?”
“No, nothing like that. She asked for an explanation. She was entitled to one, Peter.”
“Ookay,” Peter said, haltingly.
She took another breath. “So I told her that I checked out Claudia Brooks, and that the drinking was just a nasty rumor. I told her I was going with Claudia after all.”
“And?”
“She accused me of lying. She said my firing her had something to do with you, and she demanded to know what it was.”
“Me? My God! Why do you think she’d say something like that?” Peter asked. He felt an ice cube carved of guilt lodge in his gut.
“Because it’s the truth, Peter. The reason I’m firing her has everything to do with you.”
“But you said—”
“What was I supposed to say? That I wanted to fire her because I was jealous?” She moved to the bed, and sat. “I’m so ashamed of myself.” She began kissing Dinah, as if that were the cure, the way to absolve her of her sin.
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t,” she said with a knowing smile. “You only have eyes for Horace Booker. But Shay is young, and beautiful, and I convinced myself you were having an affair with her.” She looked away, too embarrassed to look at him.
Peter’s breath caught. It felt as though his lungs were closing up. He forced himself to breathe.
“Where is she now?” he managed, the words squeezing up his windpipe.
Emma was staring at the baby on her lap. She looked up at him with red eyes. “She locked herself in her room. Said she wasn’t coming out until she spoke to you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Peter left Emma sitting on the bed. He headed for the door that led to the basement.
Dead man walking. The words came out of nowhere, strobing before his eyes with every step. He tried to smile, but it came off as a grimace. Okay, okay, enough of the dark humor, he thought.
He sighed deeply as he placed his hand on the doorknob of the basement door. He felt as though he was having an out of body experience.
I’m going downstairs to evict my fantasy from the house. Sheesh!
He tried looking beyond the eviction. Once the thing was over he’d have his family and his life back. He thought back to when he was studying for the bar exam many years ago.
Don’t focus on the exam, he told himself back then. Look past it. It was his cheat for not having anxiety over the oncoming exam. It worked. Looking ahead relaxed him, and he passed the bar on his first try.
Peter needed to get to the other side of the eviction. He needed it to be behind him—over and done.
Don’t focus on the eviction, he told himself.
He moved deliberately down the stairs. He reached the basement, heard a noise behind him. Emma was standing in the doorway atop the stairs.
“What are you doing?” he whispered loudly.
“I want to make sure you’re okay,” she whispered back.
Peter nodded. “Where’s Dinah?”
“I put her down. She’ll be okay for a little while. Do
n’t be too hard on her,” Emma said. She was still feeling guilty over what she’d done.
He nodded again. “Just don’t come any closer,” he warned.
“Okay,” she replied.
He turned, and moved toward the bedroom door. Light was streaming from underneath. He could hear her moving around inside.
He rapped lightly. “Shay. It’s Peter.”
The movement on the other side stopped, but there was no response.
He looked back to his wife atop the stairs and shrugged. Then he knocked again.
“Shay, it’s Peter,” he said louder.
“YOU KNOW THAT’S NOT MY NAME,” came her voice, roiling with rage, from the other side.
He turned back to his wife. His face had gone ashen. “Go back down the hall,” he called up to her. His voice was quavering.
“What does she mean—”
“Go back. Now!” he called, his tone insistent.
Emma shot him a quizzical look before backing away.
Peter took in a lungful of air as he heard her retreating down the hall, let it out slowly. He realized he was sweating profusely. His hands were trembling like a jackhammer.
Just need to get past this.
He faced the door. “Kim, I’m coming in,” he said. His voice was small, and hollow. He pushed the door open and entered.
She’d been crying.
That was the first thing he noticed. Then, he noticed she was wearing a lovely red dress from a bygone era. She looked stunning in it. Seeing her in the dress took his breath away.
She was standing in front of the bed, smiling at him through her tears.
“You bought that dress for Emma because it reminded you of me in this dress,” she said. “Didn’t you?” She twirled, as if modeling it for him.
“I… guess. I didn’t realize it at the time,” he replied, his voice faltering. He remembered the dress now. He also remembered relieving her of it one night and ravaging her body.
“It’s okay. But you don’t need to be reminded of me, Peter. I’m right here. You have me. I’m all yours, and you are mine.” Her smile widened. Despite the tears on her cheeks, the smile was radiant, and inviting.
“Kim,” he said. “What are you doing here?”